


Emotional Support Assassin

by NienteZero



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluffy, I DON'T EVEN GO HERE, Vignette, cocktails, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NienteZero/pseuds/NienteZero
Summary: James takes care of Natasha after a mission. Fluffy wind-down for tired people.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Emotional Support Assassin

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to my Natasha/James consultant and my Russian language and food consultant who are also the best and for whom this story was written. Also special special thanks to my Russian language and food consultant for the title which is delightful

This apartment wasn't always the one Natasha came home to after being out on assignment, but it was the one that Yasha had the key to. Like all her bolt-holes it was well-secured, but unlike the others, it was for when she was feeling safe enough to be found. 

She'd sent Yasha a message on the way back from debriefing, letting him know she was headed there. So she wasn't surprised to find that he'd got there ahead of her to turn the lights on and put on a record, the lush voice of Ella Fitzgerald singing Cole Porter filling the space.

The walls of the living room were a deep blue, just a shade toward green. Heavy velvet curtains of a dull silver color blocked the noise and lights of the city. Lit low by a pair of floor lamps, the room was calm and peaceful. It opened onto a small kitchen with a respectable array of bottles and glasses taking up most of one of the wide shelves along the wall.

Natasha sprawled out on the luxuriously large couch. Her weapons were laid out on the coffee table ready to be cleaned, but she had other business just now - watching Yasha shake her a cocktail. 

He was comfortably barefoot, in a pair of faded black jeans that hugged the muscular curves of his legs and ass, and an tank top worn thin to the point that it was more of a suggestion of clothing. He was swaying to the rhythm of the music, the dimmed overhead lights of the kitchen catching the gleam off his arm and the shaker full of vodka, sour cherry bitters, passionfruit syrup, and a secret ingredient Yasha wouldn't even disclose to her. 

Right now she was thirsty for the sweet and bitter hit of the cocktail, ready to wind down some of the tension from the mission that she was still holding deep in her body. But even though she was too tired to feel the stirring of any real impetus to do anything about that ass, she'd never be too tired to watch it move, or too tired to feel a flutter of excited anticipation when he sauntered across the room with a chilled martini glass with her name on it.

"Here you are, doll," he said, "just what the doctor ordered."

Natasha sat up and took the glass from him and took a sip, closing her eyes. It was cold, crisp, delicate perfection.

"Too tired to eat?" Yasha asked, perching on the end of the couch and taking her feet into his lap. With deft strokes, his hands were working through the knots and pains that she'd lived with since she was a young ballerina. 

"Mmm," she sighed, rolling her neck as she felt herself begin to relax. She took another sip of the divine cocktail.

Yasha laughed softly.

"Thought you might be. Well, when you get hungry there are blinchiki and ikra in the fridge."

Natasha's stomach growled at the thought of pancakes thick with butter and salty fish roe. Yasha knew exactly what would tempt her - she might be hungry sooner than she'd thought. Although at this moment the world felt so soft and dreamy around her that she couldn't imagine moving.

In the field she was the Widow, deadly and cold. Even with her allies and team mates she had a role to play and it wasn't something soft and delicate and precious. But here in this place, Yasha really did treat her like his Doll. He'd know if it had been a bad mission and she needed him to stay with her and make her feel safe all night. 

Or after a mission like this one, relatively clean, relatively simple, he'd know she'd want her space back soon, and he'd leave her with promises to come by in the morning for sex, breakfast, and more sex.

"All right, Doll, you're dropping off on me," Yasha said, sliding her feet off his lap and grabbing the glass from her hand before she spilled her cocktail on the floor. 

He pulled a plush blanket over her and brushed her hair out of her face.

"I'll see you in the morning, Doll."

Natasha smiled and let herself drift.


End file.
